


Mosaic

by Sintero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hot angel sex, In the Cage, M/M, Samifer - Freeform, Wings, dub con, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re so vivid that sometimes he half-heartedly wonders if the dreams are actually repressed memories. Little moments suspended like shattered bits of porcelain in a mosaic of half-truths. But Lucifer’s lips are always there when he wakes, rough and demanding, to keep his dark musings at bay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mosaic

**Author's Note:**

> _Italicized_ text indicates "dream" sequences.
> 
> Sam and Lucifer's interactions in the Cage. Perhaps.

_The Cage stretches black and infinite in all directions around Sam as he stands alone, listening to the silence of forever. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he pulled Michael into the mouth of the Cage atop of him, and Lucifer along with them, but his body is heated and he’s still covered in the sweat and grime of his exertions. A thick patina of dirt cakes his torn flannel and crumbles to the floor in powdery clods as it dries. Sam stares off into the dark nothingness and realizes that he’s completely at a loss as to what is supposed to happen next._

_He wanders aimlessly for what feels like an eternity, until his jeans begin to chafe against his thighs. Each footfall into the flat blackness should ring hollowly, he thinks, but there is nothing but all consuming silence. He slowly sinks to the ground, awkward and gangly, pulling his long legs in beneath him, and waits. For what, he’s not sure._

_Another eternity passes before he can hear a soft rustling that he’s been subconsciously expecting, the telltale rasp of layers upon layers of feathers shifting in unison, approaching him from every direction. It takes a moment for him to realize that he’s actually able to hear anything at all, and only a second more for his heart to begin drumming a staccato beat in his chest. The roar in his ears is deafening. And then Lucifer is right there, crouching in front of him, caging Sam further with folded thighs and leaden hands. His breath is hot where it flutters across the shell of Sam’s ear as he leans in close._

_“You disappoint me, Sam,” Lucifer states coldly._

_The archangel gently reaches up to smooth the human’s ridiculously furrowed brow with heated thumbs. Sam takes a calming breath. There’s no reason to resist anymore, it’s over and he’s lost himself. Those strangely hot thumbs continue tracing invisible lines, dusting gently across his fluttering eyelids. Light fingertips come to rest on the hard line of his jaw as Lucifer whispers impossible promises._

_“You will accept me given time. You will come to love me.”_

_And, with an expression of unremitted longing, Lucifer presses deeply and burns out his eyes._

 

***

_Sam can’t say how long he’s been blind. The crisp black edges of his eye sockets itch maddeningly, though he won’t allow himself to touch the sunken hollows to relieve it._

_His jawline aches as well, and when he tentatively rasps his fingers through the growing stubble, he can tease out four distinct spots of hairlessness on either side. He can feel, but not see, Lucifer’s fingerprints seared into the flesh of his face in terrifyingly luminous swirls._

_He’s always thought of Lucifer as a raging inferno banked by the confines of his human suit. But now, deprived of his sight, he realizes that he’s been wrong all along. It’s just that the fallen angel’s chaste kisses and invasive fingers are so cold that it feels like burning._

_He’s been stumbling aimlessly for what feels like millennia. The ache of loss and imagined specters of his brother torture him ceaselessly, only punctuated by the corporeal reminders of pain and exhaustion. His footfalls have been wavering for some time now and the only testament to his continued struggle is the track of bloody footprints he imagines are relentlessly dogging his steps. His legs finally give in to exhaustion and he falls to his knees abruptly, slapping his palms into the non-existent ground. The scream that rips unexpectedly from his throat is broken and hoarse, speaking everything of loss. Warm tears should be flooding into the hands that now hold his face in hopelessness, but his tear ducts have been seared away along with his eyes. There’s no longer even the fleeting glimpse of his own work-hardened hands to distract him from wallowing in unending waves of grief. Sam collapses over his bent knees and penitently sinks his forehead into the cold floor. He prays for his life back, prays for a break from this torturous isolation._

_The inevitable sound of wings portends the cool, dexterous fingertips that lift his face softly, but forcibly from the floor. Lucifer pulls Sam’s hands away from his blacked eye sockets and gently kisses his way along the crisp outlines with a muted crackle. Sam’s stomach turns._

_He can taste blood and bile from where he’s purposefully bitten the side of his cheek to keep from retching._

 

 ***

Shooting up from the overly-soft mattress, Sam doesn’t need Lucifer’s unrepentant prodding to break the cycle of dreams.

They’re so vivid that sometimes he half-heartedly wonders if the dreams are actually repressed memories. Little moments suspended like shattered bits of porcelain in a mosaic of half-truths. But Lucifer’s lips are always there when he wakes, rough and demanding, to keep his dark musings at bay. To be honest, every waking moment is filled with the fallen angel’s voice and hands and teeth. Sam can’t remember a single moment when his life wasn’t inundated and embraced within the loving glow of multitudinous wings. He vaguely remembers that he has a brother named Dean and also remembers falling into the Cage with Lucifer and another angel, but he can’t for the life of him recall why.

He sighs and sinks into the mattress once more, returns to lying on his side with his leg propped on another oversized pillow.

Early in their relationship, he asked Lucifer to fill in the missing bits of memory, but the flat glare that he received in response made his inquisitive streak peter out quickly. Now he focuses solely on the tender moments that are just him and the archangel, the moments that feel right. Lucifer and the illusions that he constructs, of anything ranging from dilapidated motel rooms to upscale presidential suites, are the only grounding points in the dark void that constitutes their prison. Sam idly wonders what they did to deserve to trapped in the Cage like this, or if it was a matter of unfortunate circumstance. Though really, as long as he has Lucifer’s affection, the events that precipitated their union don’t really matter, Sam concludes. He’ll never remember how he came to deserve Lucifer’s sharp, unadulterated love, but that’s okay.

An abrupt dip in the mattress breaks Sam from his reverie.

He feels cold fingertips ghost across the flat planes of his stomach, and he can’t help but flex into the delicate intimacy of the touch. There’s a subtle shift of sheet and the expanse of Lucifer’s bare chest is pressing into Sam’s back, cool against his heated skin.

 “Is it merely human nature to fondle every fleeting thought like a lover?” Lucifer whispers against the nape of his neck, breath sending a quiver down Sam’s spine from where it caresses the shell of his ear.

Sighing quietly, Sam arches back into the solid weight of Lucifer’s mass. They fit together like puzzle pieces so tightly that they were surely made for eachother.

Snatching the short hair just above the nape of his neck, Lucifer pulls his head back, exposing the bulging pulse at Sam’s throat. The gentle intimacy of their arrangement shatters, turning into something sharp and marred by the violent need to _claim_. “You’re right, Sam,” the archangel states softly before sucking sharply at the juncture between his stubble-laden jaw and throat. The snap of Sam's hips into the archangel's groin elicits a moan from Lucifer that sounds more like the settling of mountains than anything human. Sam lives for these moments. When he can crack the archangel’s human façade and reach into that core of primordial power to etch his mark in the stolid ice that surely must be a heart.

In an instant, Lucifer is rolling him onto his back and settling his heavy body on top of Sam, hands like chilled vices where they hold his head still. Then the archangel is devouring his mouth in an abusive flurry of teeth and tongue and grasping his jaw so tightly that Sam’s skin will surely be bruised in the morning.

A hot curl of excitement and anticipation lodges itself low in his stomach.  It’s debauched and needy in a way that’s so wholly human it has to be blasphemy.

The hard, heavy grind of Lucifer’s very obvious erection catches at the skin of Sam’s hip where they press together beneath the sheets. Brief flares of pain, made hazy by lust, flash along his skin as Lucifer drags his nails down the soft, pliant flesh of Sam’s chest. He pays particular attention to raking repeatedly across his nipples. Sam arches up beneath Lucifer’s rough ministrations and wraps both arms behind his back, using all of his strength to reverse their positions. He tries at least, which elicits a rolling laugh from Lucifer when he doesn’t budge an inch.

“It’s far past the time for resistance,” Lucifer growls, pausing as he pushes up onto all fours and crawls further up Sam’s body with a predatory grace. Sam rolls his eyes and absentmindedly flicks errant stands of hair from his face, content to succumb.

The archangel rises up onto his knees, straddling Sam’s broad shoulders, and presses the cold flare of his cock head against Sam’s already parted lips. With half-lidded eyes, Sam runs his tongue around the breadth of it and gently sucks at the sensitive spot on the underside where the flared ridges meet. He should know better though, because Lucifer never wants gentle. In an instant Lucifer has both hands clenched in Sam’s long hair to the point of pain and is pulling his head off of the bed to better take Lucifer’s dick. A few short thrusts has it lubricated enough to seat fully in Sam’s throat without tearing at his lips. It’s like swallowing a stalagmite, the taste metallic and far too big and so fucking cold. Lucifer sets an abusive pace. He’s fascinated with the way Sam reclaims his breath in shallow, nasally pants when the archangel withdraws his cock just enough to reopen his airway. Sam thinks he won’t be able to speak for the next week. Then Lucifer pulls one hand from his hair in favor of grasping his throat tightly enough to bruise. The slick wet heat of Sam’s throat is completely overwhelming, pliant and addictive. It’s with a reluctant groan that the archangel withdrawals slowly, though Sam’s not sure which one of them it came from.

“Turn over,” Lucifer demands.

In an instant Sam is moving, awkwardly tangling himself in the sheets and fighting to get onto his hands and knees. He feels gangly and graceless next to Lucifer, but instead of deprecating amusement there’s nothing but pointed need in those ancient eyes. The archangel rips the sheets from him in one explosive motion and eagerly runs his hands over the firm curves of Sam’s thighs and buttocks. He pays particular attention to raking his nails along the furrows of muscle tone as he memorizes the feel of Sam. Sam stares at the bedspread and trembles with anticipation as he takes every touch and caress.

Suddenly there’s an insistent, frigid pressure against the tight ring of his anus, and there is no way in hell he’s going to be able to take that thing without preparation and nothing but spit for lubrication. Sam tenses and tries to tell Lucifer as much, but his protests are aborted with a powerful, wet thrust of hips. There’s the warm telltale trickle of blood tracking down the inside of his thigh, but the sheer agony that should accompany it is watered down by Lucifer’s Grace. Where pain should be there is only the uncomfortable stretch of being overfilled complimented by an alien chill and the first low curl of pleasure.

“Do you want to feel it all, Sam? Pain and pleasure all at once.” the archangel asks. Sam berates himself for being a coward, but shakes his head ‘no.’

The archangel massages the tension out of the length of Sam’s toned back and grasps his shoulders firmly. “You will with time.” And with that, he’s canting his hips for a better angle, filling Sam up hilt-deep with an absolutely punishing rhythm of plunges. Sam’s hair flies wildly and he has to clench his jaw tightly to stop his teeth from clacking together.

The wide flare of Lucifer’s head sends wave after wave of pleasure with every heated inch that it invades. Sam is almost too tight, too responsive. It’s always in moments like these when Lucifer finally let’s go, and the three luminous pairs of wings rip into the dimension of the Cage with a thunder-crack.

Sam attempts to focus on the soft rasping and electrical crackle of Lucifer’s wings as they alternately flex half-closed and arch into full expansion, but finds himself to be too distracted by the obscenely wet slap of their conjoined bodies. He tries so very hard to grasp at the luminous pinions that rhythmically flutter into his view, stretching futilely from where he is grounded by unyielding fingers now digging into his hips and the violent thrusts of Lucifer’s cock that threaten to unhinge him. Sam ultimately gives up reaching for what he can’t have in favor of bracing both arms against the mattress to shove his hips back harder and faster, greedily absorbing every impact of flesh with a hitched gasp. It’s amazing how quickly Lucifer can shift from soft and pliant, light touches so full of tenderness, to something remote and unmovable, Sam thinks with what’s left of his rational mind. He doesn’t remember how they came to be together, but he can’t imagine anyone, man or angel, could make him feel as alive as he is when writhing beneath the lurid ministrations of Lucifer’s sharp teeth and grasping fingers.  

Lucifer makes every punishing thrust feel like another claim, until Sam’s tears of pleasure well up unbidden.

Looking back at the beautiful archangel, Sam’s view is filled with the blurry image of Lucifer grasping his hips with clawed fingers as he continually buries his bulging cock hilt-deep inside. The archangel’s eyes are completely suffused with a golden glow, an ethereal sheen leaking out of his skin in luminous whorls.  His movements are sharp and uninhibited in abandon. And there it is, the low, keening moan that inevitably culminates in the eerie crackle of electricity that is surely an angelic scream. Sam can only push back as liquid ice grasps at his bowels and threatens to consume him from the inside. The illusion of the room dissolves in a blinding flood of light, and Sam’s broken pleading, mingled with Lucifer’s hitched hiss of release, are greedily consumed by the immense darkness of the Cage.

Lucifer arches over the sweat-covered planes of Sam’s back with a sigh, hands leaving trails of gooseflesh where they map the undulating flex and release of Sam’s muscles. His cock continues to twitch where it’s buried in Sam’s tight heat.

There’s a soft kiss placed between his shoulder blades, then a hand is smoothing down the coarse trail of hair on his stomach, finally coming to rest where Sam needs it most. Lucifer’s touch is so frigidly cold that it feels like burning embers scattering across his over-sensitive skin. The sensation is so heightened and vivid that he imagines himself going up in flames like parchment. It would be so easy to let go and burn.

Lucifer’s voice wavers in and out of auditory frequency, but the demanding baritone rumbles through Sam’s mind unhindered. “You were made for me, Sam. Every single atom of you was made to house my glory.” Lucifer’s grip is solid and unforgiving as he continues to stroke Sam to completion, pace slow and bordering on pain. Perfect.

Sam can’t process the implications of Lucifer’s oddly intimate confession through the undulating waves of heat roiling just beneath his skin. Though, burning as he is, he has no difficulty believing Lucifer’s claim that every atom was made to reverberate with the angel’s need.

Waves of energy arc from those rapturous fingers and wrap around his cock like a second hand.

“Yes, Lucifer, yes,” Sam all but screams, voice cracking. He knows that he will only be allowed release when he says that one, simple affirmative. It’s as easy as breathing to readily accept Lucifer’s declaration of ownership, and experience has taught him that adding the angel’s name only breaks him further.

A couple of too firm strokes and Sam’s thighs are quaking as a crescendo builds within him. There’s a pregnant pause of absolute silence and stillness before the world explodes in a rapturous display of color and light behind his closed eyelids. The sound of his own strangled scream is cacophonous against his heightened senses and, God, there’s undulating waves of heat and chill that envelope every fiber of his being. It’s like being consumed by something wet, addictive, and altogether unholy. Unable to support himself through the power of his release, Sam slips onto his elbows, still skewered on Lucifer’s cock, and sinks into the mattress.

Lucifer withdraws with a wet pop and Sam falls bonelessly into the sheets. He lies completely still with arms spread wide and his swollen lips parted as if he’s a parched penitent awaiting the rain. His breaths are labored and rattle in his chest. Lucifer absolutely devours the image of Sam’s sweat slick body laid out beneath him, and, with a cool tongue, laps at the mist of sweat beading on the small hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck. Salty and slick, the taste of him is every bit as perfect as Lucifer remembers.

Regaining some minor brain function, Sam smiles into the sheets and groans at the rasp of Lucifer’s tongue on his neck.

“I love you,” Sam whispers reverently.

Lucifer gazes down at him, eyes ancient and indecipherable.

“I know.”

***

_Sam’s aimless wandering continues unabated. There’s no longer sleep, hunger, or need, only the torturous memories of a life once lived and the infinite blackness that Sam cannot see regardless. Sometimes, he claws at his own skin with ragged fingernails or punches the seemingly solid floor just to feel the stabbing pain, the warm flood of blood down his body, and the sharp crack of bone. Just to feel human._

_The next time Lucifer visits him, the Cage abruptly bulges and presses Sam into the floor to herald his arrival. No, he realizes now that they aren’t in the Cage, this feels too familiar, too much like the machinations of an angel._

_And he remembers all too clearly saying “Yes.”_

_Lucifer nonchalantly smoothes his t-shirt into the waistband of his jeans and hitches the worn denim up on his hips before kneeling down to stare at this wretched pile of humanity._

_“Sam.”_

_He can feel the disgust in Lucifer’s deep voice. The air, or whatever passes for air, absolutely thrums around him. Sam lies still with his face pressed into the floor, smelling his own fetid breaths and feeling the tackiness of blood beneath his bared chest. “Go ‘way,” he slurs into the floor. It’s just not worth moving anymore._

_Suddenly, Lucifer snatches the ever-growing length of his beard and pulls Sam’s face off of the ground with one violent heave. Neck muscles protesting the agony of the motion, Sam can’t help but revel in the pain. This is why he looks forward to Lucifer’s sporadic visits, because he can feel and hear and taste everything. Lucifer forces him to roll onto his back and straddles his chest, Sam’s arms pinned to his sides. There’s a frigid hand forced onto his forehead, fingers twining painfully in the long, matted locks of his hair. Lucifer can have his soul for all he cares, it’s apparent now that the fallen angel already has everything else. Sam relaxes completely and awaits the imminent atomization of his soul._

_The pain of memory and loss fade._

_But the release never comes._

 


End file.
